


Lemon Vampire-Repellent

by serenelystrange



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Sick Fic, team crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21752503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: Parker catches the cold from hell and fluff and caregiving ensue! I hope you like it!
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker
Comments: 31
Kudos: 49
Collections: 2019 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





	Lemon Vampire-Repellent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AslansCompass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AslansCompass/gifts).



“The key ingredient,” Eliot explains, “is exactly one fourth a cup of lemon juice.”

Hardison nods along, only half listening, watching with wide eyes at the seemingly random pile of foods and herbs that Eliot has been adding to the bubbling pot on the stove for the last hour.

He snaps out of it when he notices Eliot is directing Bitch Face # 4 at him.

“Wait, what?” he asks, long passed being scared of Eliot’s face.

Eliot just sighs and repeats the question.

“Where are your lemons?”

“Umm,” Hardison says, stalling as he pretends to look around the kitchen, knowing full well that he and Parker do not possess any lemons.

“We might have one of those plastic bottles in the fridge,” he finally says, shrugging and giving Eliot his most innocent expression.

“Who doesn’t have lemons?” Eliot asks, shaking the wooden spoon he’d been stirring with at Hardison in exasperation.

“Who just has lemons hanging around?!” Hardison counters, smirking.

Eliot stops himself before he can be baited into yet another dumb argument with Hardison, and takes a deep breath.

“Dammit, Hardison! Just go to the store and get me a bag of organic lemons,” he says, grudgingly adding on a ‘please’ at Hardison’s raised eyebrow.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Hardison says, pausing for one more glance at Eliot’s suspiciously cauldron looking pot. “Before you turn me into a frog or something.”

Eliot just waves the spoon at him again before turning back to stirring the pot as Hardison leaves.

“This’ll fix you up,” Eliot says a few hours later, concoction perfected after Hardison had finally come back with the lemons.

“I’m fine,” Parker says, weakly.

She’s propped up against her and Hardison’s bed, surrounded by pillows and practically buried in blankets.

“You are not,” Eliot says, calm but stern. “Drink.”

“It smells like a lemon vampire repellent,” Parker complains, wrinkling her nose as he brings the mug closer to her.

“That would be the garlic,” Eliot says wryly.

“Come on, babe,” Hardison says from where he’s leaning against door frame, looking on in concern. “You won’t let us take you to a doctor, at least let Eliot feed you his witches brew.”

“Not witches brew,” Eliot corrects mildly, completely unsurprised when they both ignore it.

“It’s just a cold,” Parker says, stubbornly.

“You’re feverish AND shivering,” Hardison fires back.

“A bad cold, then,” Parker says, chin set stubbornly even as her head thumps back against the padded headboard in exhaustion.

“C’mon,” Eliot tries again. “It’s easier if you just drink it all at once. But not too fast, you don’t want to throw it all up and have to start over.”

“Oh god, I’m not doing this twice,” Parker says, finally pulling her arms out from her blanket pile to reach for the mug.

“This better work,” she threatens, glaring at Eliot and Hardison both for good measure.

“It’ll help,” Eliot promises, smothering a grin as Parker’s face scrunches up in distaste as she sips the drink.

“There we go,” he says once Parker has drained the mug and mostly stopped glaring at him.

“Thanks, El,” Hardison says as Eliot passes him and heads back towards the kitchen to clean up.

“’course,” Eliot says, clapping Hardison on the shoulder as he goes.

“That was gross,” Parker mumbles from the bed, already falling asleep again.

“I know,” Hardison soothes, coming over to settle her down horizontally again and tuck her back into her blanket cocoon.

“Don’t,” Parker says sharply, flinching away from Hardison.

“What is it?” he asks, surprised and no small amount of worried.

“Just don’t want you to get sick too,” Parker whispers, burrowing into her pile of pillows.

Hardison just laughs gently.

“I’ll take my chances,” he says, and pushes Parker’s messy hair out of her eyes, rubbing her scalp in a light massages as he does.

“Yesssss,” Parker sighs, leaning into the touch like a cat.

“Get some sleep,” Hardison says. “If you feel better later, we’ll have ice cream.”

Parker smiles but is asleep again before she can actually reply.

“I hope that stuff really does help,” Hardison says to Eliot when he joins him in the kitchen again.

“It should,” Eliot says, “but I’m leaving all the ingredients in your fridge in case I have to come back and make more.”

“Thanks,” Hardison says again, “I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

“If it does,” Eliot starts, but Hardison cuts him off before he can finish the thought.

“I’ll carry her to the car and bring her to hospital myself,” he promises, laughing internally at the thought of buckling the Parker Blanket Cocoon into her seatbelt.

“Damn right,” Eliot replies.

“Go home, man,” Hardison says, kindly. “I’ll call if I need backup.”

Eliot puts his hand out for their complicated handshake and grins.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says, and heads out, leaving Hardison alone in a kitchen that is definitely cleaner and shinier than it has any right to be after only a few minutes with Eliot.

“Freaking cleaning _ninja_ ,” Hardison whispers to himself, looking around in awe.

“Haaardison,” Parker calls out the next morning, frowning at the empty bed around her.

It takes him a minute to untangle from his blankets on the couch, but Hardison appears in the doorway, still half asleep.

“You ok?” he asks, voice rough and eyes mostly closed.

Parker reaches her arms out towards him and gives him her best puppy eyes.

“Carry me to the shower?” she asks, in a way that is more demand than anything else.

Hardison is moving before his words catch up to his brain, and it’s not until he’s scooped Parker up that he pauses to consider the request.

“You hate asking people for help,” he says, snickering softly when Parker shoots him a dirty look for calling her out.

“You’re not people,” she says, clinging to Hardison like a sloth. If the sloth was tall and blonde and suffering from the dumbest head cold in the world.

“Aw,” Hardison says, teasingly, but also actually kind of touched. “You’re not people either.”

“People are the worst,” Parker agrees, clinging a little tighter as Hardison heads towards the bathroom.

“Will you even be able to stand in the shower?” Hardison asks, shifting Parker’s dead weight in his arms.

“Hmm,” Parker says, apparently not having considered the concept of gravity versus muscle weakness.

“Carry me to the bathtub!” she amends, kicking her feet weakly in a ‘giddy-up’ motion.

“Woman, I swear to god, watch those feet!” Hardison scolds even as he’s laughing.

When they finally make it to the bathroom, Hardison sets Parker down on the closed toilet seat so that he can fill the tub up with the fancy peppermint bubbles she’d stolen from a snooty department store they’d passed through a few months ago.

Once it’s hot and bubbly, he helps her out of layers of cozy clothes and into the tub, arranging her hair over the edge of the tub as she settles against the fancy bath pillow that Hardison had swiped from that same snooty store for his own cozy bubble-baths.

“Just yell if you need me,” he says, ready to leave Parker to it.

“Don’t go,” Parker says, reaching out one arm blindly to try and grab him.

“I don’t think you’re well enough for that kind of bath,” Hardison retorts, but takes the offered hand in his own anyway.

“Just sit and talk to me?” Parker asks, uncharacteristically plaintive in her request.

She continues before Hardison can even reply.

“I haven’t heard anything geeky in days,” she laments. “Tell me what the geeks are angry at this week, Hardison. What’s new with the birds who play that game? What’s Doctor Who up to?”

Hardison laughs in delight, and grabs some towels to pad his seat on the tile floor so she can sit and lean against the tub, letting Parker take her hand back and settle fully into the water.

“The birds are still playing,” he says, “and the Doctor is on hiatus until New Year’s Day.”

“She travels in time,” Parker argues, “it might already be next year wherever she is.”

“Take it up with the BBC,” Hardison says, turning his head and shifting so that he can watch Parker’s face. Her eyes are closed, face flushed from the steam, and there’s a playful smile resting easy on her mouth.

God, he loves her.

“Oh!” he says suddenly, startling Parker enough that she cracks one eye open in mild alarm.

“What?” she asks.

“I have two words for you,” Hardison says, pausing dramatically for effect before continuing.

“Baby. Yoda.”

Parker opens both eyes at that, face shining with excitement.

“I need him,” she says, resolutely.

“You haven’t even seen him yet,” Hardison laughs.

“Irrelevant,” Parker says, settling back again and smiling to herself.

“I’m gonna steal him,” she says.

And Hardison knows that if anyone could actually manage to steal a fictional alien from the clutches of Marvel, it would be Parker.

“Of course you will,” he agrees.

They talk about nothing until the water goes cold, and then fill it back up with hot water and start all over again.

“I live!” Parker cries out triumphantly a few days later, as she and Hardison meet the others at Nate and Sophie’s.

“Glad to hear it,” Nate says, looking up briefly from his coffee and honest to god Sunday newspaper before getting back to the crossword he’d been working on.

“Such an old man,” Sophie teases him gently before focusing on Parker.

“Good to see you up and about again,” she says. “Nate’s found us a new job, and we didn’t want you to miss all the fun.”

“Ooh, crime!” Parker says in delight. “I’ve missed crime!”

Hardison and Eliot share an eye-roll over her head, but can’t deny how good it is to have Parker back to her normal self.

“Hell yeah, Team Crime,” Hardison agrees, squeezing Parker’s waist before settling on the couch next to Sophie.

Parker’s already hovering around Nate’s tablet, trying to get all the information before he can even begin his presentation.

“A passcode, Nate, really?” she asks.

Nate slowly lifts the newspaper to hide his laughing face and says nothing.

Parker just huffs and goes about figuring out the latest code with gusto. It really is good to be back.

The End


End file.
